


a home in the mountains, somewhere high up

by phantomlistener



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Implied Relationship, Missing Scene, s3e07: Bad Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 04:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener
Summary: Alone after Julie Hubble relinquishes her magic, Ada and Hecate have a difficult conversation.





	a home in the mountains, somewhere high up

**Author's Note:**

> Set between the penultimate and final scenes of the episode (and what a wild ride that was). Title from Mary Oliver's [I Have Decided](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/08/e3/e0/08e3e0bb47ae0639358365f0859f2207.jpg), which seems to fit Hecate perfectly.

The magic that Julie Hubble has finally, whole-heartedly given up shimmers and skips in the air, fading reluctantly, long after both mother and daughter have left the room. It floats like dying embers of a hearth-fire and Ada lets herself be captivated, watches the tiny firefly-bright pricks of magic above her dissolve softly into thin air and silence.

Hecate is standing close, so close that she can feel the second her rigid posture slips. It tracks precisely with the evaporation of the last of Julie's magic and Ada knows what comes next: a sigh of relief, followed by _are you alright?_ in that soft, concerned tone of voice that means Hecate has been truly worried for her, followed by a list of all the reasons Ada should have listened to her to begin with. The pattern is as comforting as it is predictable.

But Hecate says nothing.

Ada turns to her, concerned, just in time to see her falter and catch herself on the table; a jolt of panic fizzes through her veins: “Are you-”.

“Fine," Hecate manages, her voice only slightly unsteady.  "I'm...fine.”

It's an unconvincing lie – her face is whiter than snow, expressive and haunted, and she's half holding herself up against the table – but Ada lets it slide, unwilling to push her any further.  "What _are_ we going to do," she says instead, "with Mildred Hubble?  She really ought to be expelled."

"Ada!"  It's half a whisper, half an exclamation, but entirely too outraged to be ignored.

"That _is_ usually your line, is it not, Hecate?"

“This is no time for jokes.  This- this should not have happened, Ada. It shouldn't have been _able_ to happen.”

“I know,” she says regretfully. “I really thought Mildred-”

“You _don't know_!” The harsh tone of her voice is a shock. “You don't know _anything_. You've been so insistent on everyone getting along like some sort of...fairytale family, Ada, but this particular disaster has been brewing for months and at every turn you've been brushing it off like it's all some sort of... _game_.” Her voice breaks on the last word and she turns away, raises a shaking hand to smooth back hair that's already perfectly in place.  Now that she's no longer leaning against the table, it's obvious that her legs are unsteady; she sinks, barely co-ordinated, into one of the wooden classroom chairs.

Ada can feel her magic, usually comforting in its structure and control, restless and murmuring like an exposed hive of bees. It sets her teeth on edge. “You're one to talk about games, Hecate. In case you'd forgotten about that _ridiculous_ feud with Julie Hubble?”

“Contrary to popular opinion, I do not deliberately set out to cause hurt. My recommendation not to engage the services of Ms. Hubble was not some sort of...childish vendetta, Ada, it was a warning. A warning based on bitter experience. You _knew_ that, and still you acted as if I was somehow being...unreasonable.” She looks away, hands fidgeting with the cuffs of her sleeves. “You acted as if you didn't trust me.”

“You haven't exactly been a saint yourself,” Ada retorts, and she knows as she speaks that this is not the time, not the place, not the person she's truly angry with, but the words spill out regardless with a mind of their own. “Your behaviour towards Julie Hubble was inexcusable, unprofessional, and unacceptable. Is it any wonder poor Mildred wanted to make her mother magical when she could see day in, day out, how she was treated without it?”

She regrets it as soon as the last word fades into shocked silence: if Hecate had looked stricken before, she now looks positively heartbroken, as if powder and mascara are the only things holding her expression together.

“I see,” she says, in a voice suddenly so controlled that she could be standing at the front of the classroom. “In that case, _Headmistress_ , you have my resignation as your deputy.”

The silence that follows is momentous, all-encompassing, and Ada can do no more than stare at the woman who has been her trusted deputy and closest confidante for more than fifteen years. “Hecate-”

She reaches out a hand and Hecate flinches, her whole body vibrating with a nervous, restless energy. “You think this is all _my fault_?” she hisses. “You think- you think I made all of this happen? Then clearly my judgement can no longer be of any use to you. You should find another deputy.”

Hecate has a tendency to overreact, but this is new – this Hecate is new, trembling and angry and betrayed – and suddenly Ada feels very afraid that she is in the process of destroying something infinitely precious. Hecate's trust takes years to gain, and can be shaken in a second. “I'm sorry,” she whispers, realising to her horror that she is in very real danger of crying. “That was...that was incredibly unfair of me, Hecate. I didn't mean it.”

Hecate says nothing, icy with rage and cold as marble, but she hasn't transferred away.

“I don't _want_ another deputy. I want you. And never in a million years would I think this situation is your fault. Oh, maybe we can agree that neither of us have exactly displayed exemplary behaviour, but I'm afraid this entire debacle is down to me.” She takes a deep breath. It's time to tell the truth. “Ever since Agatha's last scheme,” she says slowly, “things have been spiralling out of control.”

Hecate's eyes flick to hers, and Ada manages a tiny, strained smile.

“My decisions recently have been...questionable, at best. I know you've noticed, and I'm truly sorry I've been ignoring your advice. I just thought...if I could make one positive decision of my own, just one, maybe all the second-guessing and lack of confidence would just...disappear.” Finally Hecate is looking at her with an expression that isn't hostility, something deep in her expression beginning to thaw. She sighs. “I haven't been a very good headmistress, these past few terms, and I'm beginning to see I haven't been a very good person either. If you truly want to resign for any of those reasons then I won't blame you. But what I said to you earlier was cruel and untrue, Hecate, and I am so very sorry.”

“You-” The iron control in Hecate's voice is slipping slightly, and despite the faint edge of hysteria, Ada can once again hear traces of the honest, open woman so so values. “You have always been a good person. I...have not.” Her breathing is ragged, fists clenched in her lap. “I know you gave me this job despite my history, but I think...I think you might have made a mistake.”

“No, no- Hecate, I gave you this job _because_ of your history, at least in part.” Hecate sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, and Ada aches for her, berates herself for letting her frustration get the better of her at the very moment she was most vulnerable. “You know how it feels to be young and reckless and you understand how easily an innocent act can go wrong. Even when I first met you I could see how much you cared about the young witches at Cackle's – now, the depth of your caring astonishes me.” She kneels next to Hecate's chair, ignoring the silent protest of her knees as she does so, and looks up into her face. “Letting you into this school, and then into my life, is one of the only decisions I've never second-guessed.”

"I did such a terrible thing.” Her voice is somewhere between sadness and fear.

“You were a _child_ ,” Ada says, and it's not the first time they've had this conversation, won't be the last, but she has to try. One hand covers Hecate's, clenched white-fingered around a handful of her dress, the other reaches up to touch the hard line of her jaw. “You were barely responsible for your actions, and you've paid a thousand times over for your mistake.”

Hecate's eyes flutter closed. “Are you angry with Mildred?”

“No more than I am with you. I'm furious,” she adds, “with myself.”

“I should have been kinder to Ms. Hubble.”

Vocal introspection from Hecate is as rare as Wishing Stars themselves, and Ada cannot help but reward her with a confession of her own. “And I should have listened to your warnings. Perhaps it's time to learn from our mistakes, hmm?”

“Perhaps it is.”

“Will you stay on as my deputy?”

Hecate meets her gaze with what might, with a little coaxing, become the shadow of a smile. “I owe it to Indigo to at least try and ensure that the young witches of Cackle's learn responsibility and respect for the rules, but you know I haven't stayed all these years out of guilt.” The shadow solidifies and suddenly Hecate is smiling at her, wan and fragile and full of affection, and Ada feels as if her heart might leap out of her chest in relief. “Cackle's is my home because of you, not because of her.”

“Is that a yes?”

Hecate stands up, disentangling herself from Ada's hands, and for a brief, horrifying, moment Ada is certain she's going to say no.

Then she reaches down and helps Ada to her feet. “Of course it is,” she says softly, eyes still bright with unshed tears. “Of course.”

 


End file.
